


Dark Angel

by drinkteawithme



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 01:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16822459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkteawithme/pseuds/drinkteawithme
Summary: She reasoned everything was fine, because at least she’d caught the guy she’d set out to catch, had even turned him in.She just hadn’t expected that second guy. Or, you know, his gun.She definitely hadn’t expected the bullet wound in her right shoulder.





	Dark Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Captain Swan vigilante AU.
> 
> Emma Swan, vigilante, is damn good at what she does. So good, in fact, that the media gave her a nickname: Dark Angel. So it's not the best in the world, and it makes her cringe every time she sees or hears it, but it means she's making a difference. The problem is, even the greatest people make mistakes, and Killian Jones, vigilante boyfriend, is always there to pick up the pieces. 
> 
> After nearly worrying himself half to death of course; how else would he spend his time before his angel came home?

Emma pressed her back into the wall behind her, breathing hard and fast. Her suit clung to her skin, which shone slightly with sweat and still-sticky blood, and she gently adjusted her mask (she didn’t take it off, obviously— what the hell was she, some kind of amateur?) wincing at the pain that bloomed at the eye that would definitely sport a bruise come morning. Slowly, she slid down the wall and sat there, slumped, a chill spreading through her from the chilled brick pressed against her back, her breaths leaving her in pants, her achy legs stretched out in front of her. 

She reasoned everything was fine, because at least she’d caught the guy she’d set out to catch, had even turned him in.

She just hadn’t expected that second guy. Or, you know, his gun. 

She definitely hadn’t expected the bullet wound in her right shoulder. 

Her left hand raised to the wound, ghosting the tips of her fingers over it and hissing from the sharp sting that erupted from her touch, her breath hitching and falling in fits and starts. “ _Shit_.” The bleeding was moderately stemmed by that point, having slowed since the bullet first ripped through her flesh, and she reached blindly behind her to feel for the exit wound she hoped would be there (it was), and found that the bleeding was also gradually slowing to a stop there. 

Something vibrated against her leg and she jolted in shock and from the adrenaline that was stilling thrumming in her veins (though she could tell that it wouldn’t last much longer from the steady increase in throbbing from her shoulder). Phone. She sucked air in through her teeth as she reached for the hidden pocket in her leg, where her burner was tucked away, and pulled the phone out. 

**1:16AM: swan?**

Ah, shit. She missed her check-in time with Killian. If she didn’t die from blood loss on the way to their meet-up, she thought he’d kill her. When it took her more than thirty seconds to reply, the phone vibrated again, this time with a call.

“Swan?” Killian’s breath left him in a whoosh, her name falling from her lips with nothing but abject concern. 

“Hey…” she panted, breathing still heavy, “‘m fine, Killian. Just… _fuck_ … a little banged up.”

“Location?” he asked, rushed, his voice almost monotonous but she could tell he was grabbing keys, shoes, and likely bandages. Her vision swam for a second, the world slightly blurry and just a bit tilted, some random shapes in black and white dancing in front of her eyes. “ _Swan_?” Killian tried again, a little more insistent, more imploring, more urgent. 

“‘m not sure…” she trailed off, her speech a little slower, a little more stilted and slurred. She thought she heard Killian’s breath hitch on the other end of the call. “S’mwhere near Washington Park I think.” 

He let out a huff of air. “How the hell did you end up there, Swan?”

She shrugged, groaning softly at the pain that shot in rivulets through her body as she did so. “He ran,” she mumbled by way of explanation. _Ran her straight to some other guy_ , she thought bitterly. Then her thoughts were swimming right along with her vision, the pain filtering through all of her muscles and tensing them, her mind slipping away from it’s hold on reality. Until something scuffed from her left, and she twisted to look, shrinking slightly further into herself to keep hidden. 

Another scuff, a gentle scratch, the quiet rustle of jeans. She could faintly hear Killian’s muffled speech from the speaker, but easily tuned him out, adrenaline pumping through her veins again, her breathing slightly quicker in anxious anticipation. Footsteps inched closer to her and Emma, knowing even without proper assessment that she’d really rather not get into another fight right now, decided to risk further injury to her shoulder by jumping onto the fire escape that hung above her. She pocketed the still-on phone, lifted her arms and jumped, hands curling around cold, wet metal. She hung a little for a few seconds, her shoulder screaming in agony as a protest, but the pain was quickly abating from the fresh influx of adrenaline, then she collected herself in an unsteady breath and swung herself up so her feet could find purchase on the rain-slick metal. It was all marginally louder than Emma would have liked, and she winced when she heard the footsteps increase in speed, the quiet rustle from the denim a little more intent in stride, and steadily louder. A woman with her face and hair obscured by her hood, dressed in all black, came into view.

 _Shit_. Emma slunk further back, pressed into another wall, praying to a God she was too cynical to believe in that her hiding place would keep her attacker from finding her. 

“Hey Angel,” a feminine voice cooed from below, making Emma wince, no such luck. Emma didn’t appreciate the taunt using the name the press had oh-so-kindly gifted her: Dark Angel, and felt anger blossom in her chest; she chanced a glance down, letting a grimace contort her lips, not liking what she saw. 

A pair of chocolate brown eyes boring straight into hers, an evil quirk to the other woman’s lips. 

“ _Tamara_ ,” Emma spoke, her tone clipped.

“What? You don’t wanna come out and play?” Tamara raised a perfectly arched brow, her smile widening, the hood on her head inching back slightly to reveal her black hair. “Is the Angel tired?”

“I’ll never tire of fighting worthy opponents Tamara, and yet I _am_ tired of fighting you.”

Tamara’s smile faltered slightly, the corners tugging down. “Okay, so we’re not playing.” There was a new, baleful glimmer in Tamara’s eyes that made Emma tense, the pain to her right fading into a dull throb. Emma planted her feet to the wet floor of the fire escape, eyes desperately searching for something (anything) she could use as a weapon, and when her search bore no fruit, her eyes drifted back down to where Tamara wasn’t.

“Crap,” she muttered, before being kicked firmly in the chest, surprise gripping her muscles. Emma stumbled back, that insistent throb in her shoulder flaring back to life, fresh blood spilling from the wound. She growled, both in anger and in pain as she leaned away from Tamara’s next attempt to hit her. Emma grasped Tamara’s forearm tightly, and blocked her next blow with her only free arm, then kicked her _hard_ in the stomach. Tamara stumbled back, breath stuttering and wheezing, then she leaned down, procuring a dagger from her boot. Emma’s eyes widened slightly, cursing herself for having left her own blade in the abdomen of the guy she was originally out to catch. “Playing dirty, Tamara?” she questioned, obviously stalling.

A feral grin stretched across Tamara’s face, an eyebrow quirking up. “I thought we weren’t playing.” Tamara lunged forward, her knife skimming Emma’s stomach as she swerved away. Ignoring the new wound, Emma easily dodged Tamara’s next swings, the frustration seeping into her movements the more she missed. Emma smiled slightly; frustrated people made mistakes. But then, so did people too busy _thinking_ in the middle of a _fight_ , and Tamara caught Emma off guard, her blade sinking into the hole carved for it by the bullet. A cry tore from Emma’s throat, a hand instinctively going to the wound as her steps stuttered backwards, away from Tamara. 

The look on her opponents face was bluntly victorious and entirely lacking mercy, deep brown eyes shining with glee. “Ouch,” she shrugged, no sympathy in her tone. 

Both women heard the click and creak of the metal fire escape before either knew what was happening, but Emma watched, her body slumped against a railing, as two feet collided with Tamara’s side, and she was flung sideways. The sound of a gun being cocked echoed in the air around them, and Tamara blinked her eyes open to the barrel of a gun. 

“Ouch indeed,” Killian spoke, his voice low, thick, and dangerous. Emma could hear the triumphant smile in the barely-muffled words as he kicked the dagger through a gap in the fire escape, and down to the alley below, bandana securely in place over his nose and mouth, hooked on his elfin ears. Killian leaned close to Emma’s opponent, pressing an arm over her neck and the gun to her head as he growled, “I’d leave if I were you,” in a perfect American accent, even adding a baleful, powerful, “ _Now_ ,” as Tamara remained frozen in shock and fright. 

Killian waited until the sound of Tamara’s retreating footsteps faded into silence stood stock-still, not moving other than the clenching and unclenching of his jaw. Finally, he turned to her, the anger visibly evaporating from his body as he tore the bandana from his face, rushing over to her slouched form. Emma grimaced as he touched the bruises blooming on her face, sucking in a pained breath as his feather-light touch grazed her shoulder. “ _Swan_ ,” he breathed, concern and anguish etched into every inch of his expression, his reverent touches to her injuries hesitant and worried. 

“I…” Emma tried, her breathing still heavy. “I’m okay,” she whispered, and he looked at her incredulously, his eyebrow slightly raised, his lips pulled down into a frown. “I’ll be okay,” she amended softly, seeing some of his terror abate. 

“C’mon, love, we should get you home so I can properly look at the night’s injuries.” Emma nodded, her body automatically pushing up from the railing and to the steadfast support of Killian, her body falling against him as his arm curved around her waist, holding her steady as they limped back to Killian’s car. 

Once they’d climbed through the window of the apartment (they could hardly walk through the lobby when Emma was dressed as the Angel and literally leaving a trail of blood behind her, though Killian had to admit, getting her up to their fire escape was a challenge), Killian moved Emma into the bathroom, sitting her down leaning against the bath. Now, in the artificial light of their home, Killian’s fear increased tenfold. 

Emma was exhausted, her entire body equal parts limp in exhaustion, and tense in pain and residual adrenaline. Her eyes were fluttering, trying to remain open and conscious, even though the drag and desire of sleep was palpable. “Stay with me, Swan,” Killian kept muttering to her, stroking the rough pads of his fingers over her skin, uttering reverent and sincere apologies as he applied the sting of disinfectant and stitched wounds that required it (there were too many, Killian thought as he worked, soothing her as she flinched). The wound on her shoulder took almost half an hour for him to stitch properly, applying the gauze over the still-slightly-bleeding cut. Emma’s head was being held up entirely by the tub behind her, eyes blearily and slowly blinking at his. 

“Take me to bed, Jones,” she mumbled, her words slurred and her head lolling onto his shoulder. He smirked as he hooked an arm under her knees to draw her to his chest. 

“You sure you’re up for that, Swan?” He teased, grinning down at her when she narrowed her eyes (given how narrow they were in their exhaustion anyway, he was vaguely impressed). Her bloodied hand curled into a fist and she drove it weakly into his shoulder. 

“Not what I meant, and you know it,” she mumbled, but the corners of her lips were tilted into a smile.

“Apologies, love,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

Killian knew she’d be okay as he placed her gently on the bed, already being pulled into the lull of sleep as he removed her shoes. He removed the rest of her clothing, replacing it with one of his old Chicago P.D shirts, watching her curl up slightly, her nose unconsciously wrinkling as a fresh stab of pain washed over her. She didn’t wake, and Killian brushed his lips over her temple, stroking her blonde hair back.  
He sighed, knowing this wouldn’t be the last time that his heart had to calm down after she’d completely terrified him, but also knowing he wouldn’t change a thing about her. 

“I love you, Emma,” he whispered, gently drawing her body to his, and smiling as she wrapped around him in sleep, her face buried in his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever Captain Swan fic, and my first ever fic published on AO3, wow. (I'm terrified).  
> :)


End file.
